One Hundred Little Things
by Jentrelavellan
Summary: Cullen x Lavellan Mage Inquisitor 100 themes drabbles! In no particular order, updated as and when inspiration hits, various POVs, various lengths. Prompts are welcome! Set during / after Inquisition / Trespasser. Written for fun, please enjoy!
1. Introduction

**1\. Introduction**

* * *

"Do you remember when first we met?"

Lyla's question pulls Cullen out of his doze. His fingers run idly through Lyla's hair, her head resting on his chest. It's late in the afternoon, and somehow they had managed to slip away from responsibilities for the rest of the day after a morning of back-to-back meetings. Lyla had invited him up to her rooms under the pretence of discussing the upcoming journey to Val Royeaux for the Exalted Council but, well, one thing had led to another and their work lay forgotten on the stairs of her chambers. Not that they are exclusively her chambers anymore.

She props herself on her elbow, bringing the covers up to her chest and looks down at him, her head cocked to the side. He smiles lazily, his hand still lost in her hair tumbling down her back.

"Hmm?"

She rolls her eyes. "Do you remember when we first met?" she repeats.

Cullen scratches his head with his free hand. "Of course I do. Why?"

Lyla hums, chewing her bottom lip. "Well, we never really talked about it. First impressions and all."

He chuckles. "Alright, well we first met at Haven, didn't we? During those introductions with Cassandra."

She shakes her head. "Incorrect Commander - try again."

"Incorrect?" he repeats.

"Incorrect," she confirms.

Cullen casts his mind back, thinking to the days of when the Inquisition was newly formed. He remembers when they had first been introduced at Haven - how she had stood hesitantly in the doorway in Cassandra's shadow. How he'd first noticed the vallaslin on her cheeks and her curious eyes analysing each of the advisors when being introduced. He remembers the first time they looked at each other across the war table, when he realised how green her eyes were, and how they were almost the same colour as the breach in the sky -

He remembers and looks at Lyla. "Oh, you mean first first met?"

"First first."

Taking a breath, Cullen remembers when she had stood back-to-back with him, fighting the demons around them in the ruins of the conclave. He remembers the feel of her protective magical ward, remembers seeing glimpses of her our of the corner of his eye as he cut down demons, one after another.

"I remember - it was when you came up to seal the breach."

She beams. "Yep. And what were your, ah, impressions of me?" her face blushes prettily, making his heart beat faster.

"Honestly? I couldn't keep my eyes off you… but we'd only just met." He thinks back to that sensation of his chest tightening when they had fought together, when they had been introduced briefly before she marched on the summit. "I remember watching you leave and praying to the Maker that you would survive. There was… something about you I couldn't place: it's only now that I'm realising this," he admits with a lazy smile.

She leans forward, her hair falling around her face and kisses him softly. "You know just what to say, don't you?" she teases.

"I'm simply being honest," he laughs. "Alright, your turn: what about you?"

Lyla licks her lips. "I remember thinking - halfway through the skirmish - that you were a Templar and I was fighting beside you. Me, a mage, fighting beside a Templar. I'd been told to avoid Templars all my life, and here I was casting a shield around us." She pauses, looking almost shy. "Don't you think that, even then, we seemed to…ah, fit together?"

"I suppose you're right. Although I still don't understand it."

They fall into a comfortable silence. Cullen thinks that if he'd known at the conclave that this is where they would be now, that he would not be able to believe it. That this incredible woman - a mage no less - would change his life in such an incredible way… he shakes his head.

"What is it?"

Cullen chuckles. "If my young, Templar self could see me now, lying in bed with the most beautiful woman who happens to be a mage. It almost makes me laugh."

He watches as she blushes at his words, how she edges closer to him and tangles her legs up with his. How her eyelashes flutter as she leans down to kiss him.

Without a doubt, he knows that he needs to ask her soon.

* * *

 _ **I hope you enjoyed! More to come! If you have a prompt, please share and I'll see what I can do...**_


	2. Complicated

**2\. Complicated**

* * *

Lyla paces her balcony overlooking Skyhold, subconsciously clicking her fingers. Her stomach is in knots, which is ridiculous really, when she thinks about it. Not afraid of a massive tear in the sky, oh no, but afraid of this? Of what could happen? Yep.

Creators, how _did_ she let this happen? A human - a shem - for goodness sake. An ex-Templar. The Commander of her Inquisition forces… no no _no_ , this is all wrong. It's all going to go horribly wrong.

She had been just sixteen when she had met her first human. Her clan had been incredibly reclusive, sticking to their ways and what they know, hardly ever travelling within 5 leagues of human settlements. But then a small group had arrived to respectively study Dalish magic and she had developed this crush (more like an infatuation, she muses) on one of the younger humans. He was so much taller than her with dark eyes that had entranced her. He was clearly experienced and had taken her by the hand after just one week and took her. She did not protest, she thought she was special that he had chosen her. Little did she know that, to him, she was nothing more than a free, exotic whore he wanted to sample.

It's only as the years passed that she looks back and knows that she was young, naive and a complete innocent to the ways of the human mind and body. She knew nothing but thought that her confused feelings were what was called 'love'. It wasn't - if anything it was a spark of rebellious desire which she let take control until it left her hurt and alone.

From then, Lyla had been viewed differently by the clan she was had always seen as right, and as family. She thought she had belonged there, and in any case, she wanted to know more about humans and more about the young noble who had taken her innocence. It makes her angry to think that back then, she used to have these fantasies about meeting him in a human capital - Denerim perhaps - and being enthralled by her Dalish ways once more so they married and lived happily ever after. Lyla shudders at the thoughts of her younger self. Back then, she had been reading far too many Fereldan fairy tales.

Lyla turns on her heel and heads to her wardrobe. Tugging the draws open, she peers inside, then shoves the draw closed and resumes pacing on the balcony. It's a silly circle she's found herself repeating for the last hour at least. What she was wearing is fine. Why was she even dithering about it? They see each other everyday on business and matters of the Inquisition. Spoken across the war table. Played chess together. And yet her chest tightens at the thoughts of their stolen glances, the unspoken words between them, the excitement she feels when he looks at her, when he smiles, when their arms brush as they walk.

Her head is telling her to stay away, and to not fall. But she wants to. Oh creators, how much she wants to fall! To feel desired and wanted by another - it has been so long. And this is so different from anything else - she cannot let it slide. she cannot let it pass. If he does not feel the same, then no matter - at least it will be a question answered. Although, how she would feel if he rejects he confession…

But if he doesn't reject her. _If_. She bites her lip. _If_ this became something and well, _if_ it became something more, then everything would change. The past that she has been so desperate to be rid of… part herself from would be lost forever, with no turning back. Being intimate with a shem was - in Dalish terms - forbidden. Sure, they didn't mind the odd liaison as long as it's discreet, but to commit and bond with a human would mean sacrificing her clan and being only a Lavellan in name and nothing more. It makes things much more complicated.

She has to be practical. If there became a child involved… they would not be elven, but human. And yet as she tilts her head to the side musing, she knows that thought is not as scary as it once had been. She is well untruly in the human world now, as Inquisitor. If somethings did come to pass, perhaps it would help others overcome these inner conflicts.

Lyla leans over the balcony railing, letting her hair fall down her face. She peers down into the courtyard and the knot in her stomach tightens and flips when she sees the Commander in question walk through the garden from the gazebo. He waves to someone behind, which Lyla can only assume is Dorian, but she's too far away to work it out. She watches from above as his figure disappears into the sheltered hallway.

Letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding, Lyla walks down the balcony so she can just see the edge of the Commander's tower. Moments later he appears on the walkway between the tower and Solas' rooms, pausing at the door before stepping inside. He looks over his shoulder and looks up to where she stands, rooted to the spot. She knows he cannot see that she's looking at him, so she stares back, hoping that the habitual rub on the back of his neck is because of her. Hoping that he's having the same internal monologue that's she's struggling with.

Moments later, he turns and enters his office, closing the door behind him. Lyla clicks her fingers again and runs back into her rooms, pausing by the looking glass to run her fingers through her hair, before running down the steps of her chambers. It is now or never. She needs to tell him.

* * *

"You've got to tell her."

Cullen rolls his eyes at the Tevinter mage sat opposite him. Dorian sits there with his legs crossed, a goblet of wine in his hands, and his expression completely smug.

"I know," Cullen replies, moving his piece into check on the board.

There's a surprised pause. "You do?"

Cullen stands and moves his winning piece in place. "Yes, I know. And I've just won - can I go now?"

"Hmm, only if you're going to see the Inquisitor and confess your undying love."

"Please stop."

"Stop what?"

"You know what."

"Never," Dorian smirks, curling his moustache.

Cullen pinches the bridge of his nose. "I hope you don't say things like this to her."

"Oh, and what if I do?"

He ignores the bait. "I have work to do," Cullen turns on the spot.

"Don't forget to tell her, Commander!" Dorian calls after him and Cullen acknowledges it with a wave over his shoulder.

He walks quickly, his mind made up. How long has he been pondering over the possibilities? Cullen's pace quickens as he makes his way through the great hall, past Solas's quarters and across the battlements to his tower.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and he hesitates, his thumb on the latch to the door. She's in his mind - constantly - and not for the first time, he looks over his shoulder to glance up at the tallest tower, where the Inquisitor's private chambers overlook the whole keep. His breath catches when he sees her figure leaning over the balcony, looking down - it almost seems she's looking straight back at him. He squints in the afternoon sun, but his eyesight cannot make out if she is, indeed, looking. Cullen clenches his jaw and tries not to imagine how he would feel if she were. If she _is_ looking at him.

His legs feel heavy as he steps into his office and closes the door behind him. The amount of times he has played this situation over in his mind…In frustration, he throws the rolls of reports on his desk and lowers himself into his chair. His vision is blurred and his eyes are tired, but it's not the Inquisition work that keeps him up. It's this whole situation he did not think he would find himself in again. It makes things much more complicated.

Cullen had been a young Templar when he had first met Surana. They had become friends - back then, he knew that he had been a bit too relaxed around mages. He had seen them as people, just as he does now. Maker, what he would give to speak to his younger self and reassure him that things would work out? But things had been different then - it had been an innocent infatuation and a longing for the forbidden. And then when he had been assigned to be the Templar to deliver the killing blow if her Harrowing had gone awry… it's only now that Cullen realises that it had been the beginning of the poisonous effect of the Order. Would he have done it? Of course he would have.

He thinks of Lyla, of if they had met in a Circle. If he had been at _her_ Harrowing, or if she was possessed, would he have been able to do it? It's a thought that's haunting him as he slips into the Fade each night. It's a thought which he now knows the answer to - he wouldn't be able to do it. It's this that leaves him hesitant to get close and to let himself.

But things are different now. Neither of them are in a Circle, and he is not a Templar. That life is behind him. This, the Inquisition, is his life now and without a doubt, she is becoming such a big part of it. His eyes are always searching for her around the war table, in the gardens, on the battlements, even when he isn't conscious he's looking for her. He misses her when she is away for weeks at a time on Inquisition missions, and gets this ridiculous excitement twist in his stomach when he sees her return on horseback, her face flushed and eyes bright.

The Inquisition won't last forever… could this be something more? Can he let it be something more? He has no land, no titles apart from Commander. and yet, it does not daunt him. If she is at his side then it seems much brighter, much more manageable. Despite the whole in the sky, a future with her seems survivable. He has let himself want so little in his life: is it too much to ask to want this, to want her? _Maker_ …

With a sigh, Cullen rises to his feet and picks up a random, unread report. Of course, the Maker is playing with him when it's Lyla's report that he picks up. Lyla's handwriting he's looking over but not digesting. He wonders what she thinks when she writes her reports - does she think of the task at hand, or something more? Does she agonise over her reports to him, as much he does to her? Any other report writing is dull, tedious but a necessary evil but writing even the most mundane report to Lyla leaves him questioning every sentence, scribbling out words and debating whether or not he should add something personal.

A knock at the door pulls him out of his conflicted musings. And who walks in but her. The Maker works in strange ways. His breath catches at the sight of her in his doorway, her head cocked to the side and a shy smile on her face. He is smiling back at her, the reports forgotten as he gets to his feet. A heavy silence of unspoken words hanging between them.

He clears his throat. "I-Inquisitor," he stammers, cursing himself silently. His mouth is dry as she approaches.

"I… thought we could talk… alone," she says eventually, not meeting his gaze. Is he imagining things, but is she just as nervous as him?

His stomach flips. "Alone?" he repeats. "I-err-I mean, of course."

A small smile as they walk out of his office to the battlements. A stolen glance between them as they walk together. He rubs his neck. Now is the time, he knows. It's now or never.

"It's a - nice day…"

* * *

 ** _I hope you enjoyed! More to come! If you have a prompt, please share and I'll see what I can do..._**


	3. Family

_AN: Prompt from thornflo on tumblr : "Cullen befriends a mabari during Trespasser, I'd like to see more fics of Cullen with the dog. Bonus: what do you think he named it?"_

 _Thank you for the prompt my friend and for your patience! Here's a fluffy drabble fic for Valentine's Day (although I'm a day late, soz). Want to give me a prompt? Send me a message!_

* * *

 **Family**

The hills are rolling and green, bright in his eyes against the brilliant sun. Sweat trickles down his back as he walks, despite the thin summer tunic and breeches. With a wry smile, he remembers that nothing will _ever_ be as hot as the Western Approach. Back then, now over four years ago, he had donned thick and heavy armour and the sand - well let's just say he found sand in places he didn't know he had for weeks afterwards. All of that seems so long ago - back when every day was an anxious waiting game. It's so distant now and it fades with time, like a dream in the Fade.

Cullen walks the now familiar footpaths through the Hinterlands. It's a quiet morning and he's only passed one or two other travellers who nod a greeting, not knowing who he is. It sets him at ease, walking casually, hand not even tempted to rest on the pommel of the short-sword on his belt. He can't remember the last time he used his sword other than to spar and practice with - he keeps up his training (helps distract from the occasional headaches) but other than that, his sword stays sheathed in the scabbard.

And he doesn't mind that. It's a relief to not always be leaning on it. He used to grip the hilt to keep his hands steady. Curiously, as he walks, he spreads his hands in front of him, noting the calloused skin from the good and honest farm work. But they do not shake anymore.

A playful bark brings his attention back to the path he walks. As always, his faithful companion Dusty is by his side, keeping in perfect step with him. The grey Mabari looks up at him hopefully, large eyes round and playful. Cullen leans down and picks up a stick, twirling it in his fingers.

"You want it, boy?" he says.

Dusty barks once in reply, tail wagging so hard, it slaps continuously against the back of Cullen's leg. Cullen leans back and throws the stick far along the path, Dusty galloping after it, head held high and tongue flapping. He smothers a chuckle as Dusty returns, clearly proud of retrieving the stick and presents it to Cullen, who promptly throws it again - it's a routine that keeps Dusty entertained and Cullen distracted until they arrive at the Crossroads.

Market stalls and trader's caravans bustle for space, shouting offers to potential customers who weave in and out of one another, clutching baskets or carrying children. There are dwarven tradesmen and women selling crafts from Orzammar. Elven families smiling and laughing, children running around their legs. The little village has grown since the mage and templar conflict. Now there are no Inquisition scouts in sight, no scorch marks of magic and no refugees. Instead, it's a busy trading centre - a hub of the Hinterlands. Cullen pauses by a stall full of fresh food and carefully selects a warm bread roll, a cut of meat and some fruit. He hands over some silver to the owner, whos eyes widen at Cullen's overspending. He turns to leave, waving a hand to brush away the thanks from the merchant and pauses.

There's an old banner flying in the centre of the Crossroads and Cullen smiles fondly at the flag which reads 'Under the protection of the Inquisition.' He walks towards it, Dusty peering up at him, head cocked.

"Not sure why this is still here," he mutters to himself, leaning against the low wall. It's strange seeing the Inquisition mark on a banner when he's not seen it for years now. He muses on the banner whilst nibbling his on his bread and meat. A small whimper at his feet pulls him out of his thoughts.

Dusty lies on the ground, head in paws, looking up at him with round, mournful eyes. Cullen stops chewing and rips off a piece of meat. The mabari instantly sits up, tail wagging, face hopeful.

"You want some?" A small bark in response makes him grin. He leans down where Dusty gobbles up the meat from his hands, licking his fingers. "Make sure you don't tell your mum," he chuckles. Dusty barks in return, jumps up at Cullen, paws on his shoulders and licks his face, making him laugh, almost knocking him over if it hadn't been for the low wall.

"I saw that, you know," a light voice from behind says.

Cullen turns in surprise, blinded by the sun. Sat astride a white mare is his wife, smiling from ear to ear, holding the reigns comfortably despite the lack of her left hand. To many, she's been known as the Blessed Herald of Andraste or the Inquisitor, but not to him, not anymore: she's just his love; his _wife_. She dismounts, flicking her hair over her shoulders and stands before him. Dusty jumps up and barks at her, resting his paws on her shoulders as she throws her head back, laughing in delight. His pink tongue slobbers all over her cheeks and Cullen's chest swells with happiness.

"Come now, boy - don't keep her all to yourself," he reprimands with a smile. Dusty obliges and instead circles around the couple, ignoring the curious by-passers.

Cullen immediately takes her in his arms, remembering her scent, feeling her hair brush his chin. He's reluctant to let go, running his hands up and down her back until she laughs again, tickled through her travel leathers. She plants a gentle kiss on his cheek, but recoils.

"You taste of dog," she chuckles, scrunching up her nose.

He pecks her cheek. "So do you," he grins as Dusty barks, still circling them, tail wagging. "I was expecting to meet you at Redcliffe," he says, pulling away only a little so he can look down at her properly, casually checking for any signs of injury from her journey. An old and natural reflex from when she was the Inquisitor and he the Commander.

"There was a good wind so the ship was early," she shrugs.

"And your journey? All ok? No dragon-slaying?"

"No dragon-slaying," she nods. "Although, Bull and The Chargers were disappointed to hear I won't be doing any journeying with them or Sera anytime soon…"

Cullen frowns. "Why's that?"

She avoids his gaze, but a smile teases her lips. "Oh… I don't know. I just think we might be a _little_ preoccupied and have our, ah, hands full…" she trails off, watching his face closely.

His mind is blank as he struggles to take in her words. "What are you…wait…" his eyes widen.

She takes his hands in her own, entwining their fingers. Her face flushes before saying the words that will change their lives forever. "There's going to be a _little_ addition to the Rutherford clan…"

Dusty barks excitedly as Cullen pulls his wife into a crushing hug, burying his head in the crook of her neck, hiding the tears of joy. Here, he thinks that happiness like this would never have been possible for him: he doesn't deserve it, after the life he's led. But he holds his wife tight, ignoring all around him, save for his growing family.

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 _Thanks for reading! Reviews loved! ^^_


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